Dennis Hopper checked out. I’ve only met him once, but in my head I cast him as this faraway, fantasy grandfather. I remember going to see him at this New York Times gala and asking him about a movie he directed, one of my favorites, Out of the Blue. This actress, Linda Manz, starred in it, she wore this Elvis blue jean jacket all throughout the movie that I’ve always coveted. Also: always coveted the way she talked, she had major ‘tude. He was so glad I had watched it and wanted to know more about it — guess everyone always prefers to talk about Easy Rider or Speed, ya know, or the many other iconic roles in his long career. When he was younger he dated Natalie Wood, and in our short 20-minute conversation he told me I reminded him of her, which made me unnecessarily sentimental, because I was named after her. He was really patient and he looked at you straight in the eye, but it wasn’t unsettling like I thought it’d be. You could tell he was a recovering addict of something because he totally threw himself into whatever he did with total intensity. Towards the end, it was hard to see the recent photos of him, just as heartbreaking a decline as Paul Newman’s, though Dennis Hopper was nowhere near as universally adored. He reminded me of when my grandfather was dying of colon cancer: lotsa life left in a surly man, trapped inside a dying body, all bones and teeth. Trained in Shakespeare, sick art collection, photojournalist, Midwestern boy, burned bridges, profound gaze, played it to the bone.
- from my journal, May 31, 2010
What I just sung to myself listening to One Direction sing to me through my headphones while sitting in a room full of busy at work lawyers and law students:
(To the tune of “What Makes You Beautiful”)
This song lights up my world, like nothing else
This room would otherwise get me overwhelmed
Then I smile at the ground cos they can’t tell
They don’t know
They don’t know I’m listening to One Direction
(Oh yes I am lame)
I’m not gonna get too far into the hilariously awful yet oddly really satisfying Gossip Girl series finale, mostly because I don’t have time and having quit the show ages ago (only half keeping up by reading those great Vulture recaps) I don’t think I’m qualified to say much on it anyhow. But here’s a light image-heavy recap/review, highlighting my favorite moments of that terribly awesome finale.
While paperwriting and finals makes me resemble these gifs:
The bleakness of it all leads me to derive incomprehensible joy from the oddest of things and places. For instance, one paper I’m writing just made me giddy for allowing me to construct this sentence:
“if someone who was not cognizant of pop culture in the late-1990s were to be introduced the WB’s Dawson’s Creek now, via DVD or Netflix Instant, they are likely not to connect the show to the song it made ubiquitous, Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Want to Wait.””
I am that simple and easy to please during finals.
Sounds like “you drank a quart of bourbon, smoked a pack of cigarettes, and swallowed a pack of razor blades…after 3 nights without sleep”— official 9th Circuit Court description of Tom Waits’s voice
True Love, for reals. #PaceyWitter4Lyf Thanks Kevin Williamson et al. and mostly thanks Joshua Jackson for making Pacey so perfect that all men I meet will be compared and fail to live up to that dream man. Joey Potter was a stupid twat for taking that long to make up her mind on that boy…ew remember when she briefly chose that Eddie guy (Oliver Hudson) over him? Idiot girl.
You only need this as proof: http://youtu.be/JNTdsm5Vu3w (HE BOUGHT HER A WALL PEOPLE!)
BONUS: Proof that it may just be Joshua Jackson that we’re all in love with…see Peter Bishop obsessive dad: http://youtu.be/UeKdGVSzRQU
Great Smoky Dragon” was Wheeler’s phrase for a trippy concept in quantum physics that postulates that we live in a “participatory universe,” where consciousness creates reality, where we not only forge the future by our actions in the present, but we retroactively create the past, as well. (I think.) Wheeler had other terms for this nutty notion, too, including one with stronger Fringe resonance:
“Genesis by Observership.”
And remember: Genesis under Peter Gabriel started as a prog rock band, too. Or at least they became one with their second album, entitled… Trespass. Coincidence? In an episode all about trespassing and “In Your Eyes” romanticism and oblique prog rock references? I THINK NOT!
Jeff Jensen’s recaps on EW.com make my mind hurt in the most extraordinary ways, and whether I buy into all he’s proposing or not the observations and discourse still excite me. Mostly they remind me why I love genre television, and why I think why its so amazing to really be a fan. Being a pop culture obsessive, a perpetual fan of the “geeky” etc has often been a source of derision, but more its been something that people often have looked down on me for. Insinuations that I’m wasting myself or my time obsessing over something as “trite” as a TV show has always angered, frustrated, and mostly confused me. From my perspective being a fan, engaging in thought, discourse, and critical/theoretical readings of the shows I love has not only enriched my life by giving me the ever pleasant feeling of being truly passionate about something but its stimulated me intellectually and opened my mind to so much knowledge. Television is not the idiot box if you watch it right. We are living in a golden age of TV, where shows like Fringe, Mad Men, Breaking Bad, and Lost, Battlestar, and the Whedon-ouvre before it encourage viewers not to be passive but to study history, philosophy, mortality, etc, to ask the hard questions about human nature, identity, etc. Genre in particular has seemingly limitless possibilities to make us think, to read beyond the “text” (the show itself), and to carry what we’ve gained through the process of engaging with these shows into the rest of our lives. I am a firm believer that if I had not been exposed to and drawn into the Buffyverse when I was 12, I would be a much simpler, vapid, and flat out dumber person. Loving Buffy taught me how to care enough to think, question, and seek out knowledge. To be so engaged with something that you want to read up on quantum physics or existential philosophy in order to better comprehend is a beautiful thing: passion, even about something silly, is emotionally rewarding, and moreover intellectual exercises even with pop culture are never silly.